


Feels Like We Only Go Backwards

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mentioned Previous Gang Affiliation, Murder, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It feels like I only go backwards, darlin',<br/>Every part of me says go ahead,<br/>I've got my hopes up again, oh no, not again<br/>It feels like we only go backwards, darlin'.</i>
</p><p>----</p><p>Or, an AU in which Obi-Wan loses his boyfriend, Qui-Gon, and feels like he's drowning until somebody throws him a rope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Qui-Gon?”

The soft call bounces off the walls of their shared apartment, reverberating through the admittedly small space as Obi-Wan sets down his bad and tugs off his coat, folding it over the back of a chair and making his way into the bedroom. 

“In here,” Qui-Gon replies easily from where he’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the door open to reveal him finishing with the buttons on a dress shirt. 

He turns and looks to Obi-Wan, smile soft and arms spread out in display. “How do I look?” 

“Strange.” Obi-Wan admits, laughing gently as Qui-Gon approaches him with a playfully offended look on his face. “Not bad. It’s just not often I see you in something that’s not a t-shirt.” 

Qui-Gon smiles, wrapping strong arms around Obi-Wan’s waist and pulling him close. Like this, Obi-Wan has to crane his neck to meet the man’s eyes. 

“Well,” he rumbles as he presses his forehead to the younger man’s, voice vibrating between them. “It _is_ a special occasion.” 

Obi-Wan is the first to break their eye contact by leaning up and pressing his lips to Qui-Gon’s, arms twining around his neck and running easily through his long, soft hair. His eyes fall shut, and he allows himself to get lost in gentle, unhurried hands and soft, comforting lips. 

When they finally pull away from one another, it feels like the air has been knocked from Obi-Wan and is now flying through the air, whirling around them in an imperceptible warm breeze. 

“But now I feel underdressed.” He smiles against Qui-Gon’s mouth easily, indicating at his usual clothes - a simple button-up beneath a red sweater, and a pair of plain, ordinary jeans. 

Qui-Gon grins. “Nonsense, Obi-Wan.” He retorts, finding the hem of the younger man’s sweater and fingering it absently. His eyes, always, are on Obi-Wan’s face. “You look beautiful.” 

This time it’s Qui-Gon who kisses him, leaning down to capture Obi-Wan’s lips between his own. Obi-Wan pushes him away gently, smile undeniable and large, and removes his arms from around Qui-Gon’s neck. “Come on,” he murmurs, tapping at Qui-Gon’s rope-like arms that tether the two of them together. “We’re going to miss our reservations if we don’t leave soon.” 

Reluctantly Qui-Gon releases him, pulling on his shoes and watching as Obi-Wan gathers his phone and wallet from his bag. 

“How were your classes?” He asks, voice light, easy.

“Good,” Obi-Wan replies, pocketing the items and tugging his coat on once more. “My students are beginning to grasp the philosophical meaning behind the given literature, I think. I’m quite pleased. How are yours?” 

“Good,” Qui-Gon says, grinning brightly and rocking back on his heels. “The smaller ones are learning how to count. One of them got to eleven. I’m quite proud.” 

Obi-Wan smiles at the mention of Qui-Gon’s preschool class - they’re especially bright this year, so their teacher says, though he says that about every year’s class. “Well, I’m glad. Are you ready to go?” 

They leave the apartment together, smiling, Qui-Gon listening intently to Obi-Wan as he speaks about his college course, hands moving with his words as he grows more and more immersed in his statements. Occasionally Qui-Gon speaks up, asks questions, and grins adoringly as his inquiry sends Obi-Wan onto another tangent altogether. 

They’re nearly to the restaurant, taking a shortcut through an alley they’ve been through before, when a stranger appears from the darkness and taps on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. 

When he turns, all he sees is a knife. 

“Give me your money. Both of you.” Obi-Wan stops dead in his tracks, unsure of what to do, but Qui-Gon seems to step between him and the assumed mugger instantly. 

“Look, man, don’t do this. Just walk away.” He says in a deep, dangerous voice, the kind of voice Qui-Gon doesn’t use very much.

“Qui-Gon -” Obi-Wan starts softly, but is interrupted. 

“You think this is a game, old man? Give me your money.” 

Qui-Gon turns to Obi-Wan and gives him a look, the familiar look that means _stand back, please._

He opens his mouth to protest, but Qui-Gon turns away and everything starts to move in slow motion. 

He lunges out to make a hit, and Obi-Wan watches in unrestricted horror as the knife sinks into Qui-Gon’s chest. 

He opens his mouth in a soundless scream. Qui-Gon’s eyes are wide as the knife slides out of him and the mugger stares at his own crime in surprise before taking his leave with loud steps that echo quickly down the alley. 

Without sound, Qui-Gon slides to the gravel below them. 

Obi-Wan catches him, and they fall together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I know that you think you sound silly when you call my name,  
>  but I hear it inside my head all day._

Time moves too slowly. 

_“911, what is your emergency?”_

“My, my boyfriend - he - he’s been stabbed, I-” 

_“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down. Can you tell me where you are?”_

Obi-Wan isn’t sure how he manages to stutter out the street names but he does, tears brimming his eyes as the operator tells him they’re sending someone out, that it’ll only be a few moments. 

The phone slips to the ground, where they’re lying, and Obi-Wan’s hands find Qui-Gon’s face. 

“It’s okay, Qui-Gon,” he can’t help the sob that catches his words, can’t help the tears that slip down his cheeks as Qui-Gon lets his head fall into Obi-Wan’s lap. “It’s okay. The paramedics are coming, it’ll be okay, they’ll-” 

Qui-Gon looks up at him, and his eyes are blue and steady and boring into Obi-Wan’s head. They’re distant, fading, and his lips part in a near-silent whisper of Obi-Wan’s name. 

“Don’t.” Obi-Wan says, _begs_ , knowing that any goodbye would be a permanent one. “Don’t do that. You’ll be okay. We just have to hold on for a little bit longer, just-” 

There’s too much blood. It soaks his dress shirt and Obi-Wan’s hands as they shift uselessly down to the point of injury, hesitantly pressing down on the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. 

It must hurt, but Qui-Gon doesn’t make a sound. Instead he brings rough fingers up to trace over the gentle line of Obi-Wan’s jaw. “Obi-Wan. . .” 

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan breathes, pressing down harder in an attempt to stop the blood that’s slipping through his fingers. His breath catches on another sob, and Qui-Gon’s fingers move up to Obi-Wan’s lips. “Don’t say goodbye. It’s not goodbye. It’ll be okay, you-” 

He’s trying to convince himself more than Qui-Gon. The older man seems sure of his impending demise, and therefore determined to say what he must. “Obi-Wan, stop. P-Please, listen to me.” 

His hand falls to cover Obi-Wan’s, willing him to stop, and after a few seconds of vain inward struggle Obi-Wan lets his palm go limp against Qui-Gon’s chest in silent acquiescence.

“I love you,” Qui-Gon murmurs, like it’s Obi-Wan who’s needing comfort, like they’re lying between soft cotton sheets and Qui-Gon is holding Obi-Wan, shushing his sobs after a particularly nasty nightmare. “Alright? I love you. I need you to know-” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan confirms through a sob, bringing his hand up to trace Qui-Gon’s face, run through his hair, try to memorize the feeling of _him_ before he goes. “I know, Qui-Gon. I - I love you, too.” 

The hand wrapped around his squeezes weakly, some form of desperate reassurance in his last moments, before loosening completely. 

Obi-Wan leans down to press their lips together, and they’re cold. 

By the time the paramedics arrive Obi-Wan is still cradling Qui-Gon’s head in his lap, but the man’s eyes are closed Obi-Wan’s shoulders - and sobs - are much heavier.


	3. Chapter 3

The funeral is quiet and sad, and the reception isn’t much better. 

Teachers from the school Qui-Gon worked at mill about as well as a few parents that knew him, and they all offer sad condolences to Obi-Wan. 

His suit feels too tight. 

Everything in his chest feels too tight. 

He’s aware he doesn’t look good. He hasn’t slept without a nightmare since Qui-Gon died, and waking with no one to comfort him only seems to upset him more. 

Everyone he speaks to tells him to take care of himself. He smiles tightly and tells them that he will. 

After everyone leaves Obi-Wan cleans up despite Yoda, another preschool teacher Qui-Gon worked with, tells him repeatedly not to. 

“We offered to have it at one of our places specifically so you wouldn’t have to worry about it.” Mace Windu says, clasping Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He’s a sixth grade teacher, but he and Qui-Gon had been relatively good friends. “Let us clean up. We can all get a drink afterwards.” 

Obi-Wan holds up a hand, shaking his head. “That’s alright. I’m just going to go home, but thank you.” 

“Are you sure? I’m buying.” 

He gives the same tight, false smile. “I’m sure. Goodnight, Mace. I’ll see you soon, surely.” 

He takes his leave before anyone can tell him to take care of himself, and walks home. 

It’s dark, but he doesn’t walk with any fear. He doesn’t spare the energy to be afraid anymore. He’s far too tired, and he isn’t entirely sure he would stop a stranger from driving a knife into his chest even if he could. 

Nothing happens. He makes it to his apartment in one piece.

He opens the door to his and Qui-Gon’s - just _his_ \- apartment, and flinches. 

Everything is permeated by Qui-Gon. His cologne still lingers in the air. His shoes still sit by the door, right next to Obi-Wan’s. A few of his books have been set into boxes, but most of them still sit on the shelf above Obi-Wan’s. 

Taking off the suit doesn’t help. He still feels constrained, like he can’t breathe. 

Tugging on one of Qui-Gon’s big, faded t-shirts helps, just a little. If he closes his eyes and piles the bedsheets just right beside him, he can almost pretend that Qui-Gon is lying beside him. 

Almost.

But the shape he’s made isn’t solid enough, isn’t _Qui-Gon_ , and he can’t help the tears that brim his eyes and slide onto his pillow, uncontainable, wracking Obi-Wan’s aching, tired body with sobs. 

He doesn’t sleep for hours, and when he finally does it’s filled with Qui-Gon’s blue eyes and Obi-Wan’s bloodstained hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Six months later, Obi-Wan attends his first group grief meeting. 

He’s not paying much attention to the stories being told, instead he’s picking at the long sleeves of his sweater, before his name is called. “Obi-Wan?” 

His eyes shoot up, and he realizes that most everybody is staring at him. Namely the younger man beside him, who seems particularly determined to terrify Obi-Wan into talking. From what he’s gathered in the few glances he’d stolen of the man, he was too tall for his chair and had small scars that littered his bare arms; not self-inflicted but clearlyertainly a few years old. 

“Would you like to tell the group about yourself?”

 _No._ But his doctor had all but prescribed grief counseling, and Obi-Wan supposed that meant actually participating in the discussion. 

“I’m Obi-Wan,” he says uselessly, cringing inwardly at himself. “I’m a college professor. I lost my boyfriend, Qui-Gon, six months ago. It - it was our anniversary, the day he died.” 

The leader of the group nods. “And why did you wait until now to join us?” 

He smiles smally, ruefully. “I didn’t think I needed it. But my doctor - recommended it. After I tried to kill myself. About two weeks ago.” 

A few sympathetic murmurs sound from the group. The man to his left, though, only leans forward in his seat and remains silent.

“How are you feeling now?” 

He doesn’t want to answer. But he knows they’re expecting him to, waiting for him to share something as they all have. 

“Not much better,” he forces himself to confess. He knows that this is supposed to make him feel better. He can only hope that it eventually will, after the nausea of sharing something so personal with a group of complete strangers wears off. “I still feel like I’m drowning. I have nightmares, I always have, but . . . waking up alone is probably worse than sleeping with them.” 

A few people give understanding nods. 

“Would you like to tell us how he died?” 

Obi-Wan stares at his hands, swallowing dryly. The circle of strangers in chairs wait patiently for his answer. 

“He was stabbed,” he manages, stifling the tears that want to fill his eyes. “A mugger showed up while we were walking - was our anniversary,” he repeats, pausing for a moment to clench his teeth together and force the tears away. “- And he was trying to protect me. The mugger - he had a knife.” 

There’s a long silence. Then, the group leader gives him a small smile. “Thank you for sharing, Obi-Wan. I know it’s difficult.” Then, she moves on to the man at Obi-Wan’s left, who’s still staring at him. “How are you this week, Anakin?” 

The man stretches out, like he owns the place. “Some days are better than others. Yesterday, I tried to call my mom and ask her out to lunch. I got to her voicemail and I was about to leave a message before I remembered she was gone.”

For some reason, Obi-Wan listens. Now that he’s talking Obi-Wan has an excuse to look at him; his eyes are clear and punctuate his tanned skin and his mussed but soft looking brown hair. He wears a dark t-shirt, from beneath the sleeve peeks the edges of a tattoo, and dark jeans. He isn’t bad looking at all. 

Obi-Wan tears his eyes away. What is he thinking? It hasn’t been long enough, not to even _think_ of anybody that way. Qui-Gon wouldn’t forgive him. 

Eventually the meeting ends, and people stand and mill about the snack table while speaking in friendly tones to one another. Obi-Wan pours himself a paper cup of lemonade, and wonders how rude he would be to leave when the man - Anakin - approaches him. 

“Hi,” he greets, and Obi-Wan didn’t realize how tall he truly was while he was sitting down. He almost looms over Obi-Wan, but he isn’t frightening. It seems as though he’s worked very hard to not look frightening. “You’re new, right?” He sets a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “First time sharing is always the most difficult. How are you holding up?” 

“Fine.” He says, because he can’t tell the truth. Not when it’s so ugly. “Thanks. How are you?” 

Anakin gives a crooked smile. “Oh, you know. It’s gotten better since I came here.” He stands there for a moment, unsure, then he asks: “Did you want to grab a coffee? I know this place a few blocks down, it’s-” 

“I can’t.” Obi-Wan says automatically, tossing his now-empty paper cup into the trash. “I have a boy-” _A boyfriend,_ his mind supplies, but he stops himself with a shake of his head. “I can’t. I should go.” 

He turns away to leave, but Anakin’s hand wraps around his wrists and keeps him there. His fingers aren’t holding tightly enough to aggravate the stitches hidden beneath Obi-Wan’s two layers, sleeve and bandage, but it’s enough to make him stop in his tracks. 

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Anakin says in an even voice, looking into Obi-Wan’s sad, sad eyes. “And even if I had - Obi-Wan, you’ll have to move on sometime. I know, it’s hard, and it seems impossible right now, but-” 

“That’s none of your business.” Obi-Wan tries to snap, but instead it comes out in a whimper. 

“That’s none of your business.” His second try is more effective, and Anakin’s grip on him loosens just enough for him to pull away and storm out before anyone can see the tears in his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow, Obi-Wan finds it in him to return to grief group the next week. 

He speaks, talks about how he’s feeling, lets the circle move on to somebody else. Everyone is more at ease with him, now; they smile easily and make sympathetic comments, sharing their personal tricks for getting rid of nightmares or getting to sleep in the first place. 

Anakin does none of these things. He sits across the circle from Obi-Wan with his arms crossed over his chest. He keeps his eyes on the ground, and when the group leader moves to him he shakes his head and waves a hand dismissively. 

“Pass.” He says, and it’s the only word to leave his lips for the rest of the meeting.

Even though Obi-Wan shouldn’t care, he does. He wonders what has Anakin looking so worried, silently questions if everything is okay with him. The group leader doesn’t push, but Obi-Wan wishes she would. 

When the meeting is finally over, Obi-Wan pulls himself up and forces himself to make small talk with the others despite his initial desire to turn tail and leave as quickly as he can. He clutches a lemonade cup in hand, and tries to pay attention to the people speaking in the small group he’s standing in. 

After nearly five minutes spent listening to one girl talk extensively about her brother, somebody taps on his shoulder. When he turns around it’s Anakin, looking worried and unsure. 

“Hello, Anakin.” He says, evenly, trying to remind himself to forgive and forget. 

“I wanted to apologize,” the younger man blurts out, glancing up at Obi-Wan before looking away again. “For what I said to you last week. You were right, it isn’t my business how you process, and grieve, and-” He takes a deep breath and taps his fingers against his leg. “I guess I’m asking for a second chance, if you’ll allow it. Do you want to get coffee? As friends?” 

It’s clear that Anakin is somewhat new at apologies. He fidgets, keeps his eyes on the ground, and part of Obi-Wan finds it _extremely_ endearing. 

But the rest of him is just _relieved_. He doesn’t want to make enemies _anywhere_ , let alone in the place he’s supposed to feel safe and supported. 

“I should apologize, too.” Obi-Wan admits after a moment, tugging on the sleeve of his sweater with his free hand. It’s Qui-Gon’s; far too big, but warm and comfortable and smelling faintly of _him_. “I overreacted. You weren’t wrong to offer advice.” 

Anakin finally brings his eyes up to the other, smiling softly. “And that coffee?” 

He really shouldn't. What if, on their way to the coffee shop, Anakin was shot? What if Obi-Wan was cursed to constantly lose, and Anakin just happened to be the one he’d lose next? 

The younger man sets a hand on his shoulder, likely to rouse him from the terrified, faraway look he has in his eyes. “Obi-Wan?”

_That’s crazy, _he tells himself as he snaps back into reality, looking up at Anakin and nodding. “I’d like that.”__

__\----_ _

__Anakin isn’t shot on the way there. They reach the coffee shop entirely unharmed, as expected from a midday walk for any other (normal) person._ _

__They order, and Anakin pays. When Obi-Wan tries to object, Anakin waves him off and hands the barista a credit card instead of the cash Obi-Wan is trying to offer._ _

__Talking comes surprisingly easy to them both. They sit down and talk for hours, debating on topics they don’t agree on and joking around as though they’ve known each other for years. Obi-Wan finds himself genuinely smiling for the first time since Qui-Gon’s death. By the time they both finish talking long enough to take a sip of coffee, Obi-Wan’s is cold and the sky has darkened._ _

__“It’s getting late,” Obi-Wan murmurs after a small stretch of quiet. “I should probably get going.”_ _

__“I can walk you home,” Anakin offers. He pulls himself to his feet, blue eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s. They look kind, harmless, young._ _

__All Obi-Wan can see is Qui-Gon lying on the pavement, bleeding out, gasping for air in Obi-Wan’s too-weak arms._ _

__“No,” he says quickly, ducking his head to hide the likely terrified look on his face. “No, that’s alright, thank you.”_ _

__“Are you sure? I could-”_ _

__“No.” Obi-Wan snaps, and glances guiltily up at Anakin before turning away again. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”_ _

__He makes to flee (again), but Anakin’s hand grips his wrist and traps him (again). The bandages are gone now, but his grip still isn’t tight enough to aggravate the healing cuts on Obi-Wan’s skin._ _

__“Don’t apologize.” Anakin says, seeming a thousand years older, a thousand times wiser than Obi-Wan despite their differing ages. “It’s okay. I understand.”_ _

__When Obi-Wan meets Anakin’s eyes, he smiles and squeezes Obi-Wan’s wrist reassuringly before he lets go. “I’ll see you next week.”_ _

__Weakly, Obi-Wan returns the smile. “Okay. Goodnight, Anakin.”_ _

__“Goodnight, Obi-Wan.”_ _

__He walks home in contented silence, and falls asleep without employing any tricks to do so._ _

__He doesn’t dream. For once, he’s alright._ _


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been six weeks since his and Anakin’s first cup of coffee. 

Obi-Wan measures his life in weeks now, in grief group meetings and more prominently in cups of coffee. He barely remembers what he teaches in his lectures, only recalls vague ideas and ungraded essays he _really_ should get to. 

He and Anakin become nearly inseparable in the eyes of the other grief group patrons. They walk in from outside together, and leave together; all in a few weeks, they become a package deal.

Today is a deeper conversation, the kind with stretching silences and contemplative sips of coffee. Anakin shifts in his seat before he speaks, unprompted, looking more like he’s speaking to the air than Obi-Wan. 

“My mother died last year.” He says, eyes darkening somewhat. “She was killed.” 

Obi-Wan feels a heavy wave of empathy wash over him. It’s another thing that he and Anakin have in common. 

“Have they caught the killer?” Obi-Wan asks, breathless, but he already knows the answer. 

Anakin shakes his head. His fingers are curled tightly around his coffee cup. 

Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to say. “They haven’t caught Qui-Gon’s killer, either.” He goes with that, not sure if it sounds too much like he’s trying to make the conversation about himself. 

He looks away, looks out the window, taps his fingers on the table between them and heaves a heavy sigh. After a moment, something warm and reassuring presses against his hand. 

When Obi-Wan’s gaze moves from the window and to the table, he notices that Anakin’s hand has settled atop his own, fingers shifting restlessly as though he isn’t quite sure if he’s allowed. When Obi-Wan’s eyes move up to his, they’re resolutely avoiding Obi-Wan completely. 

Slowly, somehow, their fingers twine around each other and hold on in peaceful silence. They don’t part until they get up to leave. 

“Can I walk you home? And, you can say no.” Anakin offers, the inquiry being more of an inside joke now than a genuine offer. 

Obi-Wan smiles, watching as Anakin hesitantly untangles their fingers. His hand falls to his side, warm and tingling. “No, thank you. I’ll see you next week, won’t I?” 

“Of course.” Anakin gives a blinding smile in return, all confidence and surety, and reaches over to embrace Obi-Wan tightly. Obi-Wan enjoys Anakin’s hugs; they feels like so much love is behind them, so much passion, and Anakin holds on like he never wants to let go. “I’ll see you soon, Obi-Wan.”

“Bye, Anakin.” 

The walk home isn’t nearly as bad as it was six weeks ago. He avoids any and all alleys, especially one in particular, and when he gets home he doesn’t cringe upon stepping inside. 

Boxes, some empty, litter the apartment as Obi-Wan sheds his coat and shoes. Most of them are filled with books, books Obi-Wan has no use for and really _should_ donate, though he can’t bring himself to do so just yet. 

Qui-Gon’s clothes are still spread out around the area, a small pile accumulated in the corner of the closet that have lost the man’s scent. 

Obi-Wan opens Qui-Gon’s drawer, and finds it empty. 

_That can’t be right,_ Obi-Wan thinks as he tugs open another drawer, panic crawling up his throat when he finds that that one’s empty, too.

Tears are already blurring his vision as he digs through the clothes hanging up, rooting through his own clothes in an attempt to find one last neglected piece of Qui-Gon. 

He doesn’t find one. 

It’s his fault, he thinks as he collapses to the floor of his and Qui-Gon’s, of just _his_ closet, amid the unscented piles of clothes. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get so entangled with Anakin. It’s still too early. 

His hands shake as he brings them up to wipe at wet cheeks, leaning defeated against the wall. 

Somewhere between the haze of night and morning, Obi-Wan promises himself to keep away from Anakin Skywalker.


	7. Chapter 7

It’s been four weeks since Obi-Wan attended a grief counsel meeting. He measures his life in lectures numbly given, in cups of coffee he hasn’t had, in nights spent without arms around him. 

It only gets worse. 

Tuesday, the night he would normally be drinking coffee with Anakin, he hangs a rope from a support beam and stands on a chair to reach it. Just as he’s getting ready to loop it around his neck, he hears a harsh knock on his door. 

He ignores it. They’ll go away soon enough. They’ll assume he isn’t home, and he’ll be left alone again. He readies himself once more with a deep, last breath. 

The knock sounds at his door again, even harsher this time, and Obi-Wan reluctantly climbs down from the chair and opens it a crack. 

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan says in a rough, unused voice, his surprise evident in wide eyes and parted, chapped lips. “What are you-” 

“Let me in,” Anakin orders, gaze determined as he pushes at the door. “I need to talk to you.” 

“Now isn’t a good time-” Obi-Wan protests, but Anakin pushes his way in anyways. He stops dead in his tracks, though, at the sight of Obi-Wan’s makeshift noose. 

He stares at it for a long moment before he turns to Obi-Wan, eyes wide and lost. “Why?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Obi-Wan says quickly, not meeting Anakin’s eyes. “You should go. It isn’t-”

He’s interrupted by Anakin, striding forward resolutely and bundling Obi-Wan tightly in his arms. He’s stronger than expected, solid, and if Obi-Wan felt small before he feels nonexistent now. 

“Let me in,” Anakin whispers, voice soft and sending smooth vibrations through Obi-Wan’s hair and against his skull. “ _Please._ ” 

Obi-Wan isn’t in the business of letting people see him cry. Since Qui-Gon’s died, nobody has seen him so much as shed a tear. 

Suddenly, he breaks.

Moments later Obi-Wan’s tears are wetting Anakin’s dark shirt, and sobs are shaking through his body as he feels Anakin’s thin fingers draw patterns on his back as if he were an artist and Obi-Wan was his damaged, burned canvas. 

“It’s alright,” Anakin soothes, arms holding tight and binding him to the Earth, keeping him from looping the rope around his neck and kicking the chair out from under him. “It’s alright, Obi-Wan. I’ve got you. You can - you can let it out. I’m not going to think any less of you, okay?” 

It seems that once the floodgates open they can’t be closed, and Obi-Wan sobs against Anakin’s form even as the younger man kicks open the bedroom door and guides Obi-Wan to sit on the bed. 

It goes on like that for what feels like hours, Obi-Wan occasionally making an attempt to speak but only lapsing back into more tears. They lay down together on Obi-Wan’s bed, and Anakin never leaves Obi-Wan’s side. For one moment he removes his arms from around Obi-Wan to kick off his shoes and set his phone and keys on the bedside table, but he’s back in moments and holds Obi-Wan even tighter than before to ensure he wouldn’t go absent again.

Somehow, with tears in his eyes, he sleeps. By some miracle, Anakin stays.


	8. Chapter 8

When Obi-Wan wakes up his apartment is lit only by the sun filtering through his curtains, and something on his bedside table is buzzing. 

He gropes blindly for it, trying not to wake Anakin, head aching in that unique post-breakdown way as he tries to silence the quiet but insistent noise. 

When he finally does get the phone in his hand he presses the sleep button, miraculously silencing the buzzing. He’s about to toss it back onto the bedside table and go back to sleep, but first he cracks open an eye to see who it was that called. 

_Missed Call (7) - Padmé_

Obi-Wan squints, tries to identify the name, but can’t. After a moment he realizes it must be _Anakin’s_ cell phone, not his, and resolutely returns it to its place before tucking himself into Anakin’s side again. 

Then, Anakin’s phone starts up again.. 

Obi-Wan groans, hesitantly prodding at Anakin’s chest without opening his eyes. “Anakin.” 

His voice is thick from sleep, and he prods at him again with a hint of annoyance. “Anakin, your phone.” 

The younger man does rouse, but only after the buzzing has stopped and Obi-Wan has given up on going back to sleep. Anakin sits up, bleary, hair mussed as he reaches over Obi-Wan for his phone. He’s adorable, still half asleep. Obi-Wan’s sure he looks a wreck. 

Anakin’s gasp draws him out of his self-consciousness, and he sits up as the younger stands from the bed. “What’s the matter, Anakin?” 

“Nothing,” he says quickly, phone pressed to his ear. “Just stay here.” 

 

He steps into the living room and shuts the door behind him, and Obi-Wan has to lean forward and listen hard to hear anything at all. 

“Hey, Padmé. I know, I’m sorry. I feel bad about it, really, but I had to - I know. I didn’t mean to worry any of you. Are they okay? Good. Yeah, I’ll be home by then. Alright. I’ll see you.” 

Moments later Anakin returns, looking chastised, but he gives a bright if sleepy smile when he looks to Obi-Wan. “How are you feeling?” 

“Better,” Obi-Wan admits, glancing out the open bedroom door and catching sight of his makeshift noose. “I - sorry about. . . that. Who was that?” 

Anakin looks down at his phone, shaking his head. “Nobody. And there’s no need for you to be sorry, Obi-Wan. I’m just glad you’re feeling better.” 

Only at that moment does Obi-Wan realize what a _state_ his apartment is in. Piles of clothes, both his and Qui-Gon’s, litter the floor, and an array of empty food containers and ungraded papers sit on every flat surface he has. “Oh, wow.” Obi-Wan breathes, pulling himself out of bed and looking around. “It’s a huge mess in here. And I don’t think I have any food, or I’d offer to make you breakfast -” 

“It’s fine,” Anakin says before he has time to apologize, putting up a hand. “Really. Let’s go out to breakfast. I need some fresh air, don’t you?” 

Obi-Wan can’t remember the last time he left his apartment, so he nods. “Sure. Let me just get dressed - wow. It’s really messy. I -” 

“I’ll wait in the living room.” Anakin says with a smile, entirely endeared by Obi-Wan’s embarrassment. 

When Obi-Wan steps into the living room in a clean shirt and pants, the noose is absent from the room and Anakin smiles at him with a reassuring sort of comfort. 

\----

“- And after college, we moved to America. Neither of us had very much in the UK, so we wondered if we could find something for ourselves here. Qui-Gon and I got teaching degrees, me for college classes and Qui-Gon for preschool. He loves kids, and I do, too, but I preferred more complicated teachings, like literature.” 

“What, you don’t find counting and building blocks riveting? I’m not sure you and I can be friends anymore, Obi-Wan.” Anakin teases, smile easy.

Obi-Wan holds back a smile of his own, taking a sip of the diner’s coffee. “Not particularly. It just lacks a sort of sophistication I’ve come to prefer.” 

Anakin grins and opens his mouth to reply, before something outside the window seems to catch his attention. “You _must_ be joking,” he groans under his breath, tugging himself out of the booth and bolting for the door. Obi-Wan, _very_ confused, looks out the window in an attempt to identify what it is that has Anakin so upset. 

Two small children are walking down the street, a boy and a girl, the girl more or less pulling the boy along by the hand. When Anakin skids to a stop in front of them and puts his hands on his hips, the children stop dead in their tracks. 

Anakin exchanges a few words with them before taking them both by the hand and leading them back to the diner. When the door opens, Obi-Wan fully hears the _volume_ of the children. 

“It wasn’t _my_ fault, Leia made me -” 

“You liar! You said you wanted to go!” 

“Both of you, stop it!” Anakin says over them,returning to Obi-Wan’s table and giving him an apologetic look. “Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry, I think I need to take them home, but I’ll -” 

“Who are you?” The boy asks, abandoning his father’s hand to climb onto the booth beside Obi-Wan. “What’s your name? Are you friends with dad? How long did it take to grow that beard? What are-” 

“Luke, stop it.” Anakin says sharply. “Don’t go bothering Obi-Wan, it’s not-” 

“It’s alright, Anakin.” Obi-Wan says, turning to the man’s apparent son. “My name is Obi-Wan. Your father and I are friends, yes.” 

Luke brightens, gets a dreamy look in his eyes. “Are you on a date? Are you in _love?_ ” 

“Gross!” The girl interrupts. 

“Shut _up,_ Leia!” Luke retorts, turning back to Obi-Wan with a grin. “Are you?” 

“That’s not a very polite question, Luke.” Anakin says, saving a pathetically embarrassed Obi-Wan. “Come on, you two, we should-” 

“Can we stay and have breakfast with you and Obi-Wan?” Leia asks, turning to bat her eyelashes at her father. She’s a very pretty child, Obi-Wan thinks, and wonders vaguely who her mother is. 

Anakin thinks on it a moment. “Only if Obi-Wan is alright with it.” 

They both turn to Obi-Wan with big eyes, and they’re so cunning and convincing Obi-Wan has no doubt whatsoever that these are Anakin’s children. 

“Fine by me,” he says, and the children cheer as Leia clambers into Anakin’s side of the booth. 

“Don’t think this gets you two out of trouble. Your mother will deal with you when we get home. Running away together - I’ll be right back. I’m going to call her and let her know you two are okay.” He gives Obi-Wan another apologetic look before stepping away. 

Once their father is out of earshot, they turn to Obi-Wan once more. 

“Do you?” Luke asks. 

“Do I what?” 

“Do you love our dad?” 

Leia wrinkles her nose, but leans forward just a little bit. 

Obi-Wan looks between them, giving a small shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.” 

Leia looks unsatisfied. “When you know, you know.” 

They’re terribly smart. Silently, Obi-Wan wishes they could go back to easy questions. “Well -” 

In the nick of time Anakin returns, tucking his phone into his pocket and sliding into the booth beside Leia. “She’s angry, understandably. Mostly worried. You two know you’re not supposed to go out alone, what were you thinking?” 

Both of the children start talking at once in an attempt to justify themselves, and Obi-Wan smiles softly, grateful that the attention has shifted away from him and the children’s invasive (but not entirely crazy) questions.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’m tired,” Luke complains, clinging to Obi-Wan’s hand as they walk. 

“You wouldn’t be tired if you hadn’t run off with your sister, would you?” Anakin retorts, smiling softly with endearment. 

“Leia made me!” 

Luke maintains his story well, but Leia only shakes her head sleepily by means of defense.

They’re absolutely _adorable_. Obi-Wan can’t help the smile that comes to his face when he looks down at them.

The house they stop in front of is large and well-kept, and as they climb the steps Obi-Wan wonders If Anakin lives here, wonders with a spike of guilt if Anakin’s still married to whoever these children’s mother is. 

Anakin checks his pockets and winces softly, shaking his head before knocking on the front door and turning to Obi-Wan. 

“I left my keys at your place.” 

The children - twins, he’s realized - exchange knowing glances, and Obi-Wan wonders vaguely why he’s allowing two _children_ to make him feel so embarrassed. “Right. I remember now. They’re on my bedside table.” 

After a moment Anakin’s face cracks into a smile, and then he laughs. Obi-Wan can’t help but do the same, reflecting on the strange turn the day took. 

Then, the door opens. 

The woman standing there is small but looks strong, her brown hair twisted into some sort of complicated-looking bun. 

“Hi, mom!” Leia says, letting go of Anakin’s hand to cling tightly to the woman’s leg. 

“You look _really_ pretty today, mom. Prettier than usual, I mean.” Luke says, apparently saving his hug for later. “You’re the prettiest mom ever.” 

“You really are,” Leia agrees, and the woman finally speaks. 

“Alright, both of you inside, now.” She orders, pulling Leia off of her and pointing behind her into the house. “We’re going to have a little _talk_ , just us three. Come on, Luke.” 

The boy abandons Obi-Wan’s hand with a look back to him, before disappearing through the front door. 

With the children gone the woman gives a small smile, looking to Obi-Wan. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. You must be Obi-Wan, I’m Padmé . Anakin’s told me a lot about you.” 

She puts out a hand and Obi-Wan shakes it, giving a small smile in return. “It’s nice to meet you, Padmé .” 

“Nice to meet you too.” She says evenly, glancing behind her. “I should go. We should all have dinner sometime, though. Anakin -” 

“I’m gonna walk Obi-Wan home.” He supplies before she can ask, glancing over at the man. “If that’s okay with you.” 

After a moment of nervous contemplation, Obi-Wan nods. “Sure. You have to get your keys, anyways.” 

They say goodbye to Padmé and begin walking, but after a moment Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s hand and holds it tightly. He makes sure he’s always ready to pull Anakin back and step in front of him, should something terrible happen to them. “So - children.” 

“Yeah,” Anakin admits, ducking his head. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you, I just didn’t really know -” 

“You don’t have to explain. I understand.” 

Anakin glances up at him. “Really?” 

“Really.” Obi-Wan nods. “It’s not easy. I can respect that.” 

 

The younger man’s smile is pathetically relieved. “Good. And I didn’t think you’d have to meet them like that, and Padmé - it was awkward.” 

“Padmé is your . . . ex-wife?” Obi-Wan asks, looking at the sidewalk ahead of them, scanning it for any threats. 

Anakin grimaces slightly. “Well - no. Legally, we’re still married. I just - we thought it would be better to stay married and live together for the kids, and my insurance, but we have separate rooms. We’re not -” 

“I don’t want to get between anything, Anakin.” Obi-Wan interrupts. “If you still love her, or if she still loves you, I don’t think that we should -” 

“It’s not like that.” Anakin says quickly, holding up his free hand. “Really. Of course we love each other, we’re still good friends. We always will be. But in terms of _romantic_ love, it’s over. I - I really like you, Obi-Wan.” 

“You do?” 

They aren’t walking anymore. They’re standing outside Obi-Wan’s apartment, hands still wrapped around one another, eyes nervous and clear and set on each other’s faces. “I - yeah, of course, Obi-Wan. You’re beautiful, and smart, and -” 

Before he can continue, Obi-Wan leans in and kisses him. 

Anakin’s lips feel different from Qui-Gon’s; they are slightly harder, more insistent, and when his arms wrap around Obi-Wan’s waist he realizes that his grip is different, too. 

Then, he realizes it doesn’t matter. Anakin’s not Qui-Gon. 

He’s _Anakin_ , and that’s okay.


	10. Chapter 10

He steps out of the dining room and Obi-Wan insists on helping Padmé clean up, drying dishes in the kitchen beside the shorter woman. 

“You’re a very good man, Obi-Wan.” She says, out of the blue, smiling. “I think you’re very good for Anakin. He really likes you. And I can tell you like him, too.” 

Though it wasn’t ever explicitly required, Obi-Wan for some reason feels much better with Padmé’s blessing. He gives a small, soft smile, setting a plate down. “Thank you for saying that, Padmé. I hadn’t wanted to get between anything with you two -” 

Padmé’s clear laugh rings through the kitchen, her eyes sparkling as she passes him with another plate. “What happened between Anakin and I is long over. We were young when we got married. We just work best as friends, but staying married legally was better for insurance, and for the kids. I’ll always love him, but not like that.” 

It’s such a relief hearing it from her. It’s not as though he doesn’t trust Anakin, but he’d just wanted to be sure there was truly nothing left for him to ruin. 

Anakin appears with a big smile, pressing a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead and prying the plate from his hands. “Give this to me. What a terrible host you are, Padmé, making our guest work.” 

“For your information he offered, Mr. I’ll-put-the-kids-to-bed-so-I-don’t-have-to-do-dishes.” She retorts, handing Anakin the last plate. “Well, now that’s out of the way. Can I get anyone a glass of wine?” 

Anakin looks over at Obi-Wan, an eyebrow raised. “What do you say, Obi-Wan?” 

He looks down at his watch and checks the time. “It’s late,” he murmurs, shrugging. “I’d better go. But this was lovely, truly.” 

“Can I walk you home?” 

Obi-Wan pauses at the question, stiffening somewhat, before remembering the only time he’d allowed Anakin to walk him home. Nothing had happened, right?

“Yes.” He answers, finally. He can see the surprise written on Anakin’s face. 

\----

He still grips Anakin’s hand tightly as they walk down darkened streets, but this time he smiles as he and Anakin exchange banter. When they reach Obi-Wan’s door, Anakin leans down to kiss Obi-Wan deeply, his free hand coming up to rest against the man’s jaw. 

“Goodnight, Obi-Wan.” He whispers when they part. 

He turns away and makes to leave. 

This time, it’s Obi-Wan who tightens his grip on Anakin’s hand to keep him from going. 

“Stay,” he murmurs, and when Anakin looks over at him he’s smiling brilliantly.


	11. Chapter 11

When Obi-Wan wakes up, the first thing he sees is Anakin’s face. 

In sleep he looks peaceful; his eyelashes rest against his cheeks and his lips are parted slightly, letting out little puffs of air with every passing moment.

Obi-Wan can’t help but reach out and trace along the lines of Anakin’s bare arm, fingers ghosting over small scars there and coming to rest on the edge of Anakin’s fading tattoo. 

Mesmerized by Anakin’s skin he hadn’t noticed the man’s eyes fluttering open, and he withdraws his hand in embarrassment when he feels Anakin shift beside him. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs with a note of amusement in his voice, smile bright but bleary with sleep. 

“Morning,” Obi-Wan replies, eyes still on those scars. Hesitantly he asks: “How did you get these?” 

There’s a long silence between them, and Obi-Wan wonders if he should’ve asked at all. He’s just opening his mouth to take it back, to tell Anakin he doesn’t have to answer, when he does. 

“A long time ago, about seven years now, I was in a gang.” He says after a moment, face stony and eyes shifting anywhere but Obi-Wan’s. “The tattoo was from that, but the scars are from when I was jumped out.” 

Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to say. Anakin glances up at him, nervous, looking much younger than he is. “It was a long time ago, but I made some bad choices. Some enemies, you know. The leader and I . . . we were pretty close, and he didn’t want me to go. That - that’s why my mom died. He killed her.” Something dark appears in Anakin’s eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. 

Obi-Wan’s opened his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Anakin brings up a thumb to trace along Obi-Wan’s lip. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, giving the ghost of a smile. “Really. I met Padmé, and had the kids, and - and you. I met you. I’m not -”

“I love you.” Obi-Wan interrupts, lips barely moving against Anakin’s gentle fingers. 

Anakin stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide and bright. “What?” 

“I lo-” Obi-Wan means to say it again, but Anakin’s lips on his silence him. 

Anakin’s hand finds his somewhere among the sheets and the blankets and grips it tightly, and when they pull apart Anakin sets his forehead against Obi-Wan’s and smiles so brightly Obi-Wan’s almost blinded. 

“I love you, too.” He says. He doesn’t whisper it like a secret; he proclaims it, loud and sure. 

Obi-Wan’s face breaks into his own uncontainable smile. Anakin _loves_ him. Anakin, who’s beautiful and kind and smart, loves him. 

He laughs, giddy, gazing up at the man he loves, and who loves him back. 

“I love you,” he says again.

The world has a freshness, a brightness to it that Obi-Wan hasn’t seen in a long time.


	12. Chapter 12

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan calls as he steps into his apartment, setting down his bag and looking around. 

It’s his and _Anakin’s_ apartment, now, the open boxes strewn about acting as a reminder for him. Anakin had only moved in a week ago, and motivating him to unpack seemed to be more difficult than they’d originally thought .

“I’m getting ready,” the younger man calls back, and when Obi-Wan moves into the bedroom Anakin is stepping out of the bathroom in what Obi-Wan’s learned is his only button-up shirt. “How do I look?”

“Ridiculous.” Obi-Wan says, grinning at Anakin’s signature pout. “Eight months I’ve known you and I’ve _never_ seen you in the something other than a t-shirt. It’s odd.” 

Anakin approaches him, looking chastened. “Is it really _that_ bad?” 

Obi-Wan laughs softly, shaking his head. “No, I’m joking. You look very nice.” 

Anakin raises an eyebrow a mischievous look in his eyes as he steps closer and twines his arms Obi-Wan’s waist. “You’re a cruel man, Obi-Wan. And when I’m nothing but nice to you,” 

Obi-Wan opens his mouth to protest but Anakin leans down and captures his lips between his own, pulling Obi-Wan impossibly closer as he lifts his arms to wrap them around Anakin’s neck.

Finally Obi-Wan breaks away, out of breath as he presses his forehead to Anakin’s. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave soon.” 

“So? Padmé ’s expecting me late.” Anakin says evenly, leaning down in an attempt to press his lips to Obi-Wan’s again. 

Obi-Wan lifts a hand, smiling serenely. “Get your coat on. _I’m_ not going to be late.” 

He disentangles himself from Anakin’s grip and takes his wallet and keys from his bag. 

They leave the apartment hand in hand, Obi-Wan talking animatedly about his day. The walk isn’t long; Obi-Wan can see the lit-up sign of the restaurant they’re supposed to meet Padmé and the children at. The sun has just gone down, and if Obi-Wan cranes his neck he can see the first few stars appearing, one by one. 

“Obi-Wan -” Anakin interrupts, voice hurried. 

Suddenly a loud noise seems to interrupt Anakin’s gentle, if nervous, voice. Obi-Wan can’t identify what is it, not until he feels warmth spraying across his face, feels Anakin’s hands slipping from his. 

_It can’t be._

When he turns around, Anakin’s slid to the floor. Red blooms from beneath his head, and one of his hands, the one that’d been in Obi-Wan’s, comes to rest somewhere at the older man’s feet. 

He’s on his knees in an instant, hands flying to Anakin’s face, tapping at his cheek insistently as he gazes into Anakin’s cold, glassy eyes. 

“ _No,_ ” he whispers, because it isn’t _fair_. Tears fill his eyes and he can’t see him, can’t make out the slight curl of Anakin’s hair of the curve of his lips. 

He’s _gone._

Distantly he can hear police sirens ringing, can see the lights in his peripheral vision, but it’s all fuzzy. 

Someone pries him away from Anakin’s side. They load him onto a gurney and cover his cold body with a sheet. 

Obi-Wan shivers, and somebody wraps a blanket around him. It isn’t the warmth he’s looking for. 

He doesn’t speak to any of the police officers that approach him. The words _shock_ and _mentally ill record_ float around when he finds the strength to give someone his name, but the only word he can comprehend is _alone_.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Likes + Kudos are always greatly appreciated! I also have a [Tumblr](http://little-floral.tumblr.com/), if you'd like to say hello!


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